Two Songs
by highsOffyou
Summary: When you try really hard to forget, you do. Sometimes. Curt&Brian. A musical of sorts.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own the movie or the characters.

Note: This chapter doesn't have any songs, but for the others, songs are **boldfaced** and thoughts are in _italics_.

"Two Songs"

"So…um-ah, Brian, how 'bout this one?"

"Sure. Add it, I don't care." was the limp response.

"One, two…six. Brian, we need one more song."

"You _are_ my song." he whispered, after a long pause.

"What was that?"

"Nothing. That one, add that one too." He pointed to a piece of paper.

He drifted again, back to a church four months ago. Delicate flecks of snow were falling outside. He and Curt approached, sharing a blue suede jacket.

Brian bent down to dust the thin film of snow from a step, then he and Curt sat. Just then, the church bells sounded. They rang in a song-like rhythm.

"What are they playing?" Curt asked.

"What?" Brian answered in question.

"The bells. Aren't they playing a song?"

"Maybe."

"It sounds like…ugh! It's at the tip of my tongue but I can't remember. You should know this song too."

"Nope. Doesn't ring a bell."

They both laughed.

"So, why are we here again?" Curt asked.

"To renew our vows, of course. Why else?" said Brian, smiling.

"Oh. What _were_ those vows?"

Brian laughed. "Forget it. You are so giving up heroin."

"We should have a theme song, you know." said Curt, deliberately changing the subject. "Couples have theme songs."

"Alright, now you're just fucking with me."

"No. But we should."

"Come on, Curt, we don't need one. You. You _are_ my song."

They kissed. They kissed like there was no tomorrow. Brian's lips grew cold once he separated them from Curt's. They stung.

"Brian. Hey. Hey, over here."

"Huh?" He looked up and around, a bit startled. It was his bandmate again.

"What's going on, love? You've been staring at that thing for the past ten minutes. What the hell is it anyway?"

"It's a mitt."

"I see. We're set for tonight, okay? Songlist's finalized. It should be fun for you. You haven't been on-stage in, what? Three, four months?"

"Yeah. Whoopdi-fucking-doo."

"Gee, don't get too excited."

"I'll try."

"Are you gonna rehearse with us?"

"No." He left the room without saying another word.


	2. Chapter 2

Hours later, the lounge started to fill. It was becoming packed inside; tables and chairs had to be pushed aside to make room. More people filed outside, anxious to get in. Backstage, everyone was prepping for the show, except for the main attraction. He was asleep.

"Brian. Bri—Jesus Christ! Brian! What the hell are you doing?" asked one of his other bandmates.

"What? I just took a nap. I'm fuckin dressed aren't I?"

"Yeah, but you only have ten minutes to get ready."

"For what? They're _my_ fucking songs, I'm not gonna forget."

"Okay." he said quietly. "Are you alright? It seems like you're the only one not happy about this."

"Why? Do you want me to be? Cause I'll—"

"Just be ready when they call you." he muttered, starting to get annoyed.

The band opening for the show was still performing.

When they finished, a short, chubby man stepped out from behind the curtains. He talked to the impatient crowd, stalling them so the opening band could clean up. But as soon as Brian's band came out, they started chanting.

"BRI-AN! BRI-AN! BRI-AN!" they said in unison.

Unable to hold them off any longer, the man decided to make his introduction.

"Alright folks. Without further delay, I present to you…Mr. Brian Slade!"

The crowd roared.

Brian drew a long, tired sigh and proceeded. He waved once at the audience without even looking at them. Then he went straight to the microphone.

"I love you Brian!" someone shouted.

He nodded once.

"This first piece…is called 'Love of My Life.'" He pulled a bar-stool that was placed on-stage for him and sat. A pale red beam of light shone down on him as he began.

**Love of my life, you've hurt me**

**You've broken my heart and now you leave me**

**Love of my life, can't you see**

**Bring it back, bring it back**

**Don't take it away from me, because you don't know**

**What it means to me**

_Blonde hair. A blonde head in the crowd, turned away._ Brian's eyes lit up and followed what he beheld as he continued to sing.

**Love of my life, don't leave me**

**You've taken my love, you now desert me**

**Love of my life, can't you see**

This someone was making way through the people, farther and farther from the stage.

**Bring it back, bring it back**

_Turn around, turn around._

**Don't take it away from me, because you don't know**

**What it means to me**

It wasn't him.

Brian stood up, looking like he was about to cry.

**You won't remember**

**When this is blown over**

**And everything's all by the way**

He held the microphone closer to his mouth and sang more fervently.

**When I get older**

**I will be there at your side to remind you**

**How I still love you—still love you**, he sang slowly, painfully.

**Back—hurry back**

**Please bring it back to me**

**Because you don't know what it means to me**

**Love of my life**

**Love of my life….**

They cheered. They cheered for him, their lonely muse. He held his head back, forcing down the tears.

He went on to sing his other songs, which had none of the passion as the first. And after each one, the people worshipped him; they died between songs. They were brought back to life once his sweet voice touched the air again.

Disclaimer: I don't own the song "Love of My Life." It belongs to Queen.


	3. Chapter 3

The place was empty now, except for a few loners who stayed in the dark corners of the lounge. Plastic cups and crumpled tickets littered the ground. Dead leaves were blown in, covering tables and chairs.

_Strange. They were early._

One couple, the only couple, sat at a table against the velvet wall. They were quietly laughing.

Brian looked away and faced the bartender.

"What can I get you Mr. Slade?" he asked.

"Scotch and soda."

He saw someone approaching. It was Mandy.

"Um, hey." he called the bartender. "Make that two."

"Sure."

"Brian." Mandy said, almost whispering.

"Hi." he responded, trying to sound happy.

"I—uh heard you had a show, so."

"Here's your drinks." the bartender butted in.

"Thanks." Brian took the glasses from his hands eagerly.

He took a sip. "You're a little late."

"Could care less about that. Just wanted to see _you_, really."

"Well here I am. Not much still."

"Are you with anyone?" she asked, pointing to the second glass of scotch.

"Oh, no, these are both for me. You want a drink? I'll order another one."

"Actually, yeah. I'll have what you're having."

"Hey bartender, give the lady a scotch and soda."

"Coming up."

"So, how was the show?" Mandy started, as soon as she got her drink.

"I thought you didn't care about that." Brian reminded her.

"I couldn't think of anything else to say."

"Well, I gave them what they wanted. Everything but me."

"Somehow, I don't think so." she said, before taking a drink.

"Why is that?"

"Cause you wouldn't be miserable like this. Though this is preferable to an empty shell. Still, maybe you shouldn't have done this show."

"If I hadn't done this, you wouldn't know where to find me."

"But did you want to do this?"

"Would it have made a difference if I did?"

"You look so tired." she said, ignoring his question. "Always doing what you have to. Do what you want for a change. Find someone."

"I don't need anyone." he said, finishing his second glass.

"Are you telling me or are you telling yourself?" she asked. "Look at me, and say it." she said, turning to face him.

He wouldn't look up. He concentrated on the empty glasses in front of him. When he finally turned, she was gone. He took her drink, which she barely touched, and downed it straight. He then fixed his eyes on the stage.

There was a band still playing. And they played with so much energy, despite the lack of audience or the time. Brian looked around for a clock. Nobody seemed to care about time anymore. Unable to find one, he just gave up and decided to give the band a listen.

The lead singer started slowly.

**Well I found you**

**A perfect excuse to be alive**

**You were walking**

**Heat in your eyes, heart in your hand**

**Drop the bottle, drop the glass**

**Pick up the pieces**

**Drop the bottle, drop the glass**

**Pick up the pieces**

He dropped on the stage floor and started thrusting his hips up. _This was strikingly reminiscent of…of…._

**Cut me out of you**

**Deeper and deeper, don't stop till you die**

**Harder and harder, don't stop till you die**

**Cut me**, he screamed, almost out of breath.

**stronger and stronger, don't stop**

Then he got on his knees and bent his head, looking like he was singing to the floorboards.

**And you passed me**

**Something inside me died**

**Sacrificed me**

**Those Good Mornings meant Good Byes**

His body crashed on the floor again.

**Drop the bottle, drop the glass**

**Pick up the pieces**

**Drop the bottle, drop the glass**

**Pick up the pieces**, he sang, his head dangling up-side down from the stage.

**Cut me out of you**

**Deeper and deeper, don't stop till you die**

**Harder and harder, don't stop till you die**

He rolled around, back and forth.

**Deeper and deeper, don't stop till you die**

**Harder and harder, don't stop till you die**

He squirmed violently, as if he was trying to crawl out of his skin.

**Cut me**

**stronger and stronger, don't stop**, he screamed again, louder than the last time.

**Never apologize**

**Never explain**

There was heavy breathing.

_Could he hear him from the stage? No. It was his own breathing._

Brian sat still on his stool, eyes blank. He closed them. There _he_ was, jumping and spreading glitter on his chest. He opened his eyes quickly and darted them to and fro, from the stage to where he sat.

He clapped. Then he left.

"Whoa, wasn't that Brian Slade?" asked the lead singer of the band.

"I think." said the drummer.

Note: I actually own this chapter's song, because I wrote it (surprisingly)! I like to call it "Shards of Glass."


	4. Chapter 4

As the two talked among themselves, Brian made his way out. He grabbed a half-empty glass from a table he passed. He drank from it, didn't even care what it was. When he finished, he slammed it on another table. It rested on the edge, a little more and it would've crashed on the floor.

Outside, it was unusually cold. Brian crossed his arms in a shrug and headed out into the waning night.

Elsewhere, a black Cadillac rolled up a street. A man approached the car and peered inside. Then, the door clicked open. First, a puff of smoke, then a foot appeared. The glitter of the metallic shoe glinted in what was left of the moonlight. Curt Wild stepped out.

"Thank Jesus you're here." the man said. "I wouldn't have been surprised if the place imploded, if you arrived any later. It's crazy in there." He led Curt through the doors and up the stairs.

It felt like the steps and the banisters shook as they climbed. Muffled screams leaked out of a door opening to the main stage.

"They're all yours." the man said, once they reached the top of the last flight.

Curt smiled, the cigarette still in his mouth. "I guess I'll play a slow song first to calm them down." he said softly, finally taking the slow-burning stick off his lips. He handed it to the man. He then walked down the hall and pushed the door leading to the stage.

The man wasn't lying. The place looked ravaged, like there had been a raid or something. It was loud, and the crowd became wilder at the sight of him.

"Curt Wild, everybody." the bassist introduced him.

He blew the crowd a kiss.

"I'll start with number four this time." he whispered to his band.

"Number four? Alright." the bassist said, as he handed Curt an acoustic guitar. "Take it away."

Curt gently strummed the strings and sang. The whole room grew silent instantly.

**Well I've**

**been thinkin' 'bout the future**

**Too young to pretend**

**It's such a waste**

**to always look behind you**

**You should be lookin' straight ahead**

**Yeah, I'm gonna have to move on**

**Before we meet again**

**Yeah, it's hard**

**If you had've only seen**

His eyebrows furrowed as he played, struggling with emotions.

He managed to stifle them as he started again.

**10:34, Flinders Street Station**

**I'm lookin' down the tracks**

**Uniformed man, askin' 'Am I paid up'**

**Why would I wanna be that?**

**Yeah, I'm gonna have to move on**

**Before we meet again**

**Yeah, it's hard**

**If you had've only seen**

**Take control**

**Don't be afraid of me**, he sang, eyes closed, slightly shaking his head.

**Cause every once in a while**, he nearly screamed.

**You think about if you're gonna**

**get yourself together**

**You should be happy just to be alive**

**Just because**

**you just don't feel like, comin' home**

**Don't mean that you'll never arrive**, he groaned.

**Yeah, I'm gonna have to move on**

**Before we meet again**

**Yeah, it's hard**

**If you had've only seen**, he pointed his eyes upward for a moment.

**Take control**, he held his breath.

**Don't be **

**afraid of me**, he strummed the last chords and bowed his head, exhaling.

_You're alright. You're doing fine._

"What's next, ah? Curt? You old crowd pleaser, you." asked the band's drummer. "We wanna play too you know."

Curt switched his acoustic guitar with the electric, as the applause continued.

"Let's go back to number one." he said.

Disclaimer: I don't own the song "Move On." It belongs to Jet.


	5. Chapter 5

Curt's body swayed with the guitar riffs and he stamped his feet with the falling drum beats.

**Sell the kids for food**

**Weather changes moods**

**Spring is here again**

**Reproductive glands**, he ripped his shirt off.

The people cheered and whistled.

**Hey**, he stretched the note with his wonderfully gravelly voice.

**He's the one**

**Who likes, all our pretty songs**

**And he, likes to sing along**, he curled his lips in an "o."

**And he, likes to shoot his gun**

**But he, don't know what it means**

**Don't know what it means**

**And I say**

**He's the one **

**Who likes, all our pretty songs**

**And he, likes to sing along**

**And he, likes to shoot his gun**

**But he, don't know what it means**

**Don't know what it means**

**And I say, yeah**

He took the microphone in his left hand. With his right hand, he separated the stand from it and slid it between his legs.

**We can have some more**

**Nature is a whore**

**Bruises on the fruit**

**Tender age in bloom**

**Hey**

**He's the one**

**Who likes, all our pretty songs**

**And he**, he slid the stand down.

**likes to sing along**

**And he**, he slid it up.

**likes to shoot his gun**

**But he**, it went down again.

**don't know what it means**

**Don't know what it means**

**And I say**

**He's the one**

**Who likes, all our pretty songs**

**And he, likes to sing along**

**And he, likes to shoot his gun**

**But he, don't know what it means**

**Don't know what it means**

**And I say, yeah**

Curt pranced on the stage as the guitarist played his solo. He held out his hand.

A stagehand scurried to give him a tall glass of liquor. He poured some over his hair, his face, and his chest. Then he extended his arm again.

The stagehand brought him a lighter. He took a drink, and holding the lighter before him, clicked it. He drank again, this time forcefully releasing the fluid in the air. Fire ignited as soon as the liquor touched the lighter's little flame.

The audience screamed in delight and he laughed to himself.

**Hey**

**He's the one**

**Who likes, all our pretty songs**, he paraded himself among each of his bandmates.

**And he, likes to sing along**

**And he, likes to shoot his gun**

**But he, don't know what it means**, he leaned forward and faced the guitarist, his mouth almost touching the other's face.

**Don't know what it means**

**And I say**

**He's the one **

**Who likes, all our pretty songs**

**And he, likes to sing along**

**And he, likes to shoot his gun**

**But he, don't know what it means**

**Don't know what it means**

**Don't know what it means**

**Don't know what it means**

**Don't know what it means**

**And I say, yeah**

Just before the final drum beats, the doors opened on the other end of the place.

"Who's that?" Curt asked his band.

"What?" the drummer's lips read.

"I said, who the fuck are they?" he yelled, trying to contestthe people's deafening claps and shrieks.

"That must be the news crew." the bassist answered.

"What? Why?"

"This place just opened. You were late, so we didn't have time to tell you that they were coming to check it out and to have a short interview."

"Who in the hell does a fucking interview at, at fucking dawn!"

"That's when they were told that you'd be here."

"Well. That just made my day." he said, somewhat sarcastically. "They know just what Curt Wild wants, and they give it to him. They stick it well up his ass."

"Don't worry." the bassist reassured him. "We'll hold them off if they start getting lippy." he winked.

Curt sighed.

"It's not gonna be like last time." the bassist said, in a more serious tone.

Suddenly, Curt was brought back, to a bar three months ago.

"Has your relationship with Brian Slade ended?" the interviewer asked, his mouth gaping wide.

"I wouldn't say that it ended…." he tried to answer coolly. "It just…stopped."

He shook his head, and he was back on-stage.

"Let's hope."

"Hmm?" the bassist asked.

"Nothin." he said, as he headed for the stairs.

"Wait." his band called out. "We'll go with you."

"No. Stay here and entertain them." He motioned his head to the people. "I don't want them to see how much _more_ fucked up I am."

With that, he continued his descent.

"Oh Curt." the bassist murmured.

Disclaimer: I don't own the song "In Bloom." It belongs to Nirvana.


	6. Chapter 6

Brian's footsteps continued to grace the street. Each tap of his heel felt like it was in sync with each of his heartbeats. Until now, his mind had been free of thoughts.

His thoughts were of Curt. Everything else that passed his mind were just unwanted images, impulses. He realized now that the only thing harder than thinking was_ not_ thinking. Then he realized another thing shortly after. It was impossible.

He drew his eyes up and off the ground. He looked around; at a tree, a bum digging in the trash, anything to keep his mind away from his "thoughts."

From a distance, something struck at him. He saw a girl. She had her back leaned against the side of a building, along with her left leg, in a teasing pose. In her right hand, she held a cigarette, and in her left, a match. She was striking it tirelessly against the building. When it finally lit up, she touched it to the tip of her cigarette.

And when it lit up, Brian lost consciousness of his present surroundings. All he could see was Curt.

"Kiss me." Curt said.

"What? Is that a command?" he asked in return.

"Yeah. Yes it is."

"What if I don't want to?" he asked playfully.

"Then, I'll make you want to."

"What if that doesn't work?" he persisted.

"Then I'm afraid I'll have to be more…persuasive." Curt said, pulling a cigarette and a box of matches out of his pockets.

"What're you gonna do, huh?"

"Kiss me, or else."

"Or else, what?" he asked, giggling.

"Or else I'll burn my tongue and you'll have that on your conscience forever!"

"You'll have to try harder." he said.

"You're right." Curt agreed, putting the cigarette in his mouth and striking a match on the side of the box.

"You're not gonna do it, you pansy."

"Pansy? You should be talking." Curt lit the cigarette. "Kiss me. Now."

"No." he said firmly, trying to see how far the other would go.

Incapable of waiting another second, Curt took the cigarette and dug it down the tip of his tongue, searing it.

"The fuck did you do that for!" he asked in alarm.

"Oo dinint thig that I'd oo id, tid you?" Curt asked, wincing in pain.

"Oh come here, you sick son of a bastard." he said lovingly. "You want a bloody kiss?" He pulled Curt and kissed him, almost sucked him dry.

"Ah, shit! That fuggin hurt like hell!" Curt yelled.

"But my kiss tastes like heaven." he said.

He kissed Curt again, touching his own tongue to Curt's singed one. Then he bit Curt's lower lip tenderly.

"Are oo attempting to further mutilate me?"

"Such a drama king. Come on, let's go." He snatched Curt's hand. "Maybe a quick fuck will cure your speech impediment."

Together they laughed, and left.

Brian was now just a few steps from the girl, who was looking straight ahead in a different direction. She turned her head as he came nearer.

"Looking for a fast fix, doll?" she asked him, with a grin on her face.

He stopped and gazed at the cigarette between her fingers, which was substantially shorter.

"You just gonna stand there?" she asked again.

He turned around and started walking back, treading down the same way he came up.

"What's _his_ deal?" the girl mumbled.

Brian closed his eyes while he walked. He was surprised, as tears dropped when he opened them.

He started singing to appease himself.

**Take a look**

**At what I took**

**A leaf out of everybody's book**

**We see**

**what you, can't see**

**I'm caught in a trap of my own**, tears filled his eyes again.

**Like everybody I know**, he clutched his arms tightly, as if he would disintegrate if he let go.

**This won't be played, on your radio**

**tonight**

**This won't be played, on your radio**

**tonight**

**Do you all know**, his lips trembled.

**Of the emperor's clothes**

**Walking down an empty road**

**We see**

**what you, can't see**

**That's not how I wanna be**, he sniffed. His head felt like it was going to explode.

**Anyhow, every time, the same dream**, he broke down. He rushed to wipe his tears, looking at them with disgust as they pooled on his hands.

When he recovered, he returned to singing.

**This won't be played, on your radio**

**tonight**, he gasped, almost choking on his sobs.

**This won't be played, on your radio**

**tonight**

He stopped by the mouth of an alley and let himself plop on the ground. He cradled his knees in.

**This won't be played, on your radio**

**show**

**This won't be played, on your radio**

**tonight**

**Oh no**

Disclaimer: I don't own "Radio Song." It belongs to Jet.


	7. Chapter 7

"Well, thanks." Curt said, getting up from his chair. He just finished speaking with the interviewers. "Thanks for not being assholes." He let out a little smile. It immediately disappeared, the moment he turned around.

He began walking back to the stage. As he took his steps, he looked down at himself. He looked at the remaining liquor on his chest, which almost dried on him. He ran his hand through his hair. It was damp and sticky. He licked his lips. The taste was still there. Altogether, he felt dirty, and tired.

Seeing all this, the stagehand rushed to get a towel, and returned with it just as Curt approached. Curt took the towel listlessly and wiped his face. He hung it on his shoulder and walked up the stairs, trudging heavily.

He stood there on the stage with his hands in his pockets, thinking of something to say. He was oblivious to the people cheering at his return. Not long after, he was interrupted by the drummer.

"How'd it go?" he asked.

Curt stared at him with wide eyes, looking lost.

"How was the interview?"

"Oh. Better than expected."

"That's good to hear."

"Listen." Curt said gravely. "I'm gonna go home. Just tell the guys if they ask for me."

"Going home? Where exactly?" he asked, sounding disappointed. He didn't bother to add that they still had a couple of songs to go.

"To—uh, my apartment. You know." He tossed the towel away as he moved towards the door. Before he could pull it open, he was interrupted again.

"Hey Curt, you're not keeping any problems from us, right? We had a whole talk about this."

"No." he lied, and walked out. Something had been bothering him, and it was escalated by almost everything he did.

In the lobby, the same man who met him earlier sat slumped in a chair. He was asleep. Curt lightly tapped his shoulder. He opened his eyes and crossed his brow in confusion.

"Oh, it's you." he said, realizing who woke him up.

"Sorry to wake you." Curt apologized. "Do you know if the guy who drove me is still there? Don't wanna go searching ballistically outside like an idiot."

"I think so. I mean, he should be. You told him to stay, didn't ya?"

"No, but I didn't tell him to leave either."

"Then he should be there still."

Indeed, the car was there when Curt got out. He got in.

"Take me home." he said to the driver, who was also sleeping.

"Oh shit." He jumped. "How long have you been there?"

"I just got in."

"You fuckin' scared me. What were you saying?"

"Take me to my apartment."

"You sure you wanna go straight there? There's a bit of darkness left. Maybe we could hit a few dives on the way."

"I'm sure."

"Okay." the driver said, tipping his head.

While the car wheeled its way on the road, the driver tried to have a conversation with Curt. It was a one-sided conversation, with him talking about what he did as he waited for so long.

Curt shrugged him off in the back seat, too distraught to care about the self-pitying narrative. He had his own troubles to wallow in.

But the driver droned on.

"You know, I don't understand you sometimes." he said quietly.

"Understand?" Curt asked, out of nowhere.

"Yeah." he said. "I kinda don't get you at times, but I guess that's what makes you interesting. What makes you guys interesting." He was unaware that the other was immersed in a different conversation.

"I don't understand you sometimes." Curt spoke.

"_Don't_ try to understand me." Brian snapped back. "Stop trying to understand me!"

"Well, we're here." the driver announced.

"What?" Curt asked, slightly bewildered.

"We're at your apartment, as you requested."

Curt hastily opened the door and leapt out.

"Give me a call if you're ever interested in going out somewhere." the driver said.

"Huh? Yeah." he responded tiredly.

"Rockstars…." the driver grumbled under his breath, as he drove the Cadillac away.

Note: I know, I know, this chapter doesn't have a song. It sort of just turned out that way. I dunno, I guess the story needed a quiet transition…. Kudos to Jay though, for the suggestion, even though I didn't set out to follow it.


	8. Chapter 8

Curt pulled himself up the stairs and dragged through the hall. He stopped by his door and rummaged his pockets for his keys.

_Why did this happen to us?_ The words ran through his head.

He forced the key through the slot and turned it. The door slammed shut behind him.

He sat on his bed and kicked his boots off. Then he stood up, unbuttoned his pants, and let them drop on the floor.

He sat down again, feeling uneasy, and looked over to his right, at the record player. He walked over to where it rested and checked to see which record was in it. Satisfied with what he saw, he left it in and turned the player on. Leaving the volume on the highest setting, he proceeded to the bathroom.

**Timothy, I took your place**, the song rolled on.

**Timothy, cause it's such a waste**

He turned the showerhead on. The water drowned some of the sound and some of his problems, or so he hoped.

**Timothy, we found your spaceship**

**Timothy, it's the farthest you've ever flown**

**Never used your head**

**To find out what this whole thing meant**

He stood directly under the water, letting it pound on his head.

**It's not what it seems, but it is**

**Timothy where have you been?**

**Timothy where have you been?**

He took the soap and rubbed it against his body, gliding it carefully over every curve. He flinched. All of a sudden, he was in pain. His whole body ached. He ignored it and clawed at his chest, fiercely raking the remains of the liquor.

**Timothy, where did you go?**

**Timothy, the boy can throw**

**Timothy, we found your spaceship**

_Maxwell Demon. He and Brian. What was the difference? Both were difficult, sometimes impossible… More importantly, what was it about them? What was it that beguiled him so?_

**Timothy, did it hurt when you hit the ground?**

Next, he focused his energy on his hair, tousling it vigorously in a lather.

**Never used your legs**

**To walk 'round in this whole big mess**

**It's not what it seems, but it is**

**Timothy where have you been?**

**She cried in the kitchen**

**to let you go**

**Timothy where have you been?**

He slithered down to sit and leaned against the tile wall. The music settled inside him as he watched the bubbles wash down his skin.

**Missed your photo**

**Missed your birthday too**

**Missed your photo**

**It's not what it seems, but it is**

**Timothy where have you been?**

**She cried in the kitchen **

**to let you go**

**Timothy where have you been?**

He grasped the tiles and pushed against them to bring himself up. His body felt so heavy, like something was weighing him down. Then, he gathered his hands, letting the water collect on his palms. He splashed it on his face.

**Missed your photo**

**Missed your birthday too**

**Missed your photo**

**Missed your birthday too**

Recognizing the song's end, Curt got out of the shower and wrapped himself in a towel. He walked on his heels towards the record player, dripping a trail behind him. The record stopped playing as soon as he lifted the needle off of it.

After drying, he dug himself something to wear out of a pile of clothes. He decided on some stretch tweed pants and a fitted maroon t-shirt. He stood before a mirror that was hanging on the wall and applied his eyeliner. Then he combed his hands through his hair.

To finish, he picked out a pair of two-inch cowboy heels from an assortment of shoes spread out on a door mat.

When he was done, he fell back on the bed, his feet staying on the floor. Water slowly trickled from his hair and soaked the sheets.

He closed his eyes and laid his arms across the bed. His most hated memory entered his mind.

It hadn't been long since their separation. He cut his hair, in sort of mourning, and dyed it back to its original color. Only seven days had passed and he was ready to return to Brian, like a heartsick puppy begging for its master.

"Why did this happen to us?" he asked. "We could've fixed it. We can still fix it." he said enthusiastically.

"I'm not gonna take you back if that's what you came here for." Brian said coldly. He was always the stronger one.

"Do you feel better?" Curt asked, almost mockingly. "You feel good about yourself!"

"I don't do things to feel good about myself." Brian answered dryly. "But wait, that's right. I'm supposed to be the selfish one. So, I'm gonna be selfish and do the selfish thing to do and leave you…cause you're pathetic. You're the pathetic one who always tries to be…_understanding_." He left Curt and went inside.

Curt stayed by the car like a martyr, remotely hoping that Brian would change his mind. For the first time, he was truly afraid.

Brian merely stood by his window, looking down disdainfully at the one he used to look at with so much affection. He wondered if he meant the burning words he spat out of his mouth. They gnawed at him now, eating him up bit by bit.

Curt looked at the concrete and sunk his teeth down his lip. He didn't waste any more time and slid inside the car. He buried his face in his hand, crying silently, as soon as he was sure that the car was out of Brian's sight.

But he was wrong. Brian did see him. He abandoned the window and shrank by the side, crying into a corner. His fragile frame shook with each powerful sob.

Curt woke up from his memory and blinked his eyes rapidly. He grabbed his keys and stormed out.

_Why did this happen to us?_ It kept playing in his head.

_Why did this happen? To…us? WHY?_ It followed him everywhere, it seemed.

Disclaimer: I don't own the song "Timothy." It belongs to Jet.

Note: I know. This is the third one from Jet. Hey, their songs work really well with the story. At least…I think they do. I mean, I hope they do.


	9. Chapter 9

A walk was not about to help, but he already made up his mind. And so, in the young morning light, Curt took his worries to the streets.

He was walking briskly, and when he noticed, he slowed down. His body needed its lifeline. He was involuntarily hinting at it. With an unsteady hand, he pulled out the usual cigarette and box of matches. There was one lonely match inside when he pushed the carton open.

"Light up, you fucking fuck." he ordered the wooden stick. He was becoming more frustrated as he stroke it against the box. The flame started, faltered, and died.

"Bastard!" He flicked the cigarette down the gutter angrily.

"Hey, hey. Give the cigarette a break, huh?" a man snickered at him.

"Hey yourself!" he returned. He wasn't about to take any more shit. "Why don't you go home to your mother, fuck her, fuck yourself, and die. I can marry the cigarette if I want to."

The man hurried away, too shaken to say anything. Curt turned around to be greeted by a wall. He positioned his forehead against it and sighed deeply. His eyes fell and his breathing lulled. He just stopped himself from crying.

"What do I have to do?" he asked himself. "This is all I need right now!" he said loudly, picking his head off the wall and bending it back.

Finally, he departed. He walked even quicker than before. He didn't know where he was going or what he was looking for. Maybe to a bar where he could pour some piss down his throat, or a nice, tall building facing a busy road. Nothing made a difference. Everything he did found its way back to Brian.

Brian didn't realize at first that the alley he stopped at was next to the lounge. He felt weird. He couldn't grasp how he was guided back. It didn't matter anyway. He felt like…well…like he always felt, magnified to an almost unbearable degree.

Reluctant to go back in, he listened to a band play from outside.

**Yeah I'm waitin'**

**for you, it's been so long**

He staggered, almost stumbled, to get up. His legs had fallen asleep. He remained pinned against the brick wall after he managed to stand.

**Yeah I'm waitin'**

**for you, it's been so long**

**Yeah I'm sad when I'm on my own**

**They said**

**it takes a long, long time**

_I know where this is going_. he thought. The song was beginning to repel him. It would only add to his damage.

He was about to leave, when he saw the first and last person he wanted to see. It was Curt.

_I can't believe this shit actually happens_. he thought again, feeling knots in his gut.

Curt spotted Brian right away. He never could've missed him.

Brian's legs amazingly regained feeling in an instant. He shoved his body around and started to go, paused, and came back. He realized that he had just walked in a circle.

**If it's not too much**

**Could you hear me now?**

The two were hesitant, but couldn't help but be drawn closer to each other. It was a strange feeling, like being lured while in a self-inflicted trance or dreading something all the way until you finally step into it and find out that it's what you've wanted all long.

"Well this is definitely awkward." Brian started, faking a laugh.

"Yeah." Curt said. "I, uh, heard you had a show. I didn't know when or where though."

"You knew about that?" Brian asked, surprised at what he was hearing. Suddenly he felt weak. He felt vulnerable.

"Yeah."

They were quiet for a while. Inside, they were fumbling and tossing everything around. Each was hunting for what he would say next, what he would do next.

**You promised me, you'd always be**

**When I wake up**

**please come around again**

**Come around again**

"Can I—" Brian's voice cracked. "H-hold…." He appeared as if he was going to collapse.

Curt caught him in time, and he threw his arms around Curt's neck. Curt locked him in a tight embrace.

"God. Oh God." Brian huffed. "This is such a…." he began to laugh. "Why am I crying? I'm not supposed to be crying."

**You promised me, you'd always be**

**When I wake up**

**Please come around again**

**Come around again, yeah**

"I'm sorry." Brian said, the tears flowing down, unrestrained. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry for everything. I deserved it. I deserved it all." The words raced out of his mouth faster than his mind could retrieve them.

He pulled away from Curt, but held on to his shoulders. All Curt could do was cry along soundlessly and eye what was unraveling in front of him.

"I just wanted to say all that. You don't have to forgive me. That, I don't deserve." Brian whispered.

**Yeah I'm waitin'**

**for you, it's been so long**, the song echoed.

**Yeah I'm sad when I'm all alone**

**They said**

**it takes a long, long time**

"I have forgiven you." Curt said, sucking back his tears. "I forgave you the day I came back. I've forgiven you everyday, when we were together, and after…."

"I love you. I still love you. I don't think I can ever stop." Curt continued, as he squeezed Brian's arms. He couldn't believe how easily he was dropping the words.

"But you're not…in love with me anymore." Brian replied shakily.

**If it's not too much**

**Could you hear me now?**

**You promised me, you'd always be**

**When I wake up**

**please come around again**

**Come around again**

**You promised me, you'd always be**

**When I wake up**

**please come around again**

Brian released his hold and tugged at his long sleeves. He hauled his face across them, completely smearing his make-up. Curt's eyeliner was no match for his tears either.

**Yeah there's something I was thinkin' about**

**Get it out of my head**

**Yeah there's something I was kickin' around**

**Somethin' you said**

"I gotta…go." Curt almost hiccupped. He was just about ready to find that building and jump off.

"Wait." Brian said, still crying. It was beyond him now. He had no control over the salty water draining out of his eyes. "What are you gonna do?"

"Guess I'll write a song about this." Curt joked.

They both forced a sad, teary smile.

**I don't know when I'm right**

**I only know when I'm wrong**

**So when you gonna leave some light to show it all?**

**And keep the lights from going off**

**Cause I don't see, yeah**, the singer crowed.

Curt took a step and landed a kiss on Brian's lips. It was the one thing he could leave, and take with him. He held Brian's face in both hands and looked into him. Brian focused on Curt with stormy eyes, relishing the moment. Then, Curt let go.

Raindrops began to fall and spatter on the ground.

**Cause I'm waitin'**

**for you, it's been so long**

**Yeah I'm lost but I'm at home**

It was Curt's turn to leave, when Brian called out once more.

"Wait." he said firmly. He stood motionless, letting out a nervous laugh. "Will I ever see you after this?" The tears washed down his face again.

**They said**

**it takes a long, long time**

"Someday." Curt answered. He ran as soon as the word left his mouth, disappearing as rapidly as he came. Brian took slow paces in the other direction, feeling like the pavement shifted under him. Both felt so glad, and so terrifically sad at the same time. They each felt like they could drop down at that moment and wither away into nothing. They each _knew_ that even if they tried, they could never bring back the same relationship, the same love. Both had been hurt enough.

**If it's not too much**

**Could you hear me now?**

The wind gained strength. The sky rained down with all its might, as if to share the sorrow. The colliding drops erased any traces of Brian and Curt's meeting.

And from the lounge, the song pressed on.

**Come around again**

**Come around again**

**Please come around again**

Record: STOP

Disclaimer: I don't own the song "Come Around Again." It belongs to Jet.

Note: So…how was it? Good, bad, wonderful, terrible? Contrived? I did mean for Curt and Brian to meet when I first conceived this story. I just didn't know when. Anyway, I am very interested in your reactions. Please be excruciatingly honest. You never know, the story can always be re-worked…. To conclude, I just want to thank everyone for reading this, especially those who have been so faithful! It's gotten more attention than I can ever wish for.


End file.
